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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Donald M’Donald

By James Hogg (1770–1835)

Air—“Woo’d an’ married an’ a’.”

MY name it is Donald M’Donald,

I live in the Hielands sae grand;

I hae follow’d our banner, and will do,

Wherever my Maker has land.

When rankit amang the blue bonnets,

Nae danger can fear me ava:

I ken that my brethren around me

Are either to conquer or fa’.

Brogues an’ brochen an’ a’,

Brochen an’ brogues an’ a’:

An’ is nae her very weel aff,

Wi’ her brogues an’ brochen an’ a’?

What though we befriendit young Charlie?

To tell it I dinna think shame:

Poor lad! he came to us but barely,

An’ reckoned our mountains his hame.

’Twas true that our reason forbade us,

But tenderness carried the day;

Had Geordie come friendless amang us,

Wi’ him we had a’ gane away,

Sword an’ buckler an’ a’,

Buckler an’ sword an’ a’;

Now for George we’ll encounter the Devil,

Wi’ sword an’ buckler an’ a’!

An’ oh, I wad eagerly press him

The keys o’ the East to retain;

For should he gie up the possession,

We’ll soon hae to force them again.

Than yield up an inch wi’ dishonor,

Though it were my finishing blow,

He aye may depend on M’Donald,

Wi’ his Hielanders a’ in a row,

Knees an’ elbows an’ a’,

Elbows an’ knees an’ a’;

Depend upon Donald M’Donald,

His knees an’ elbows an’ a’!

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William,

Auld Europe nae langer should grane;

I laugh when I think how we’d gall him,

Wi’ bullet, wi’ steel, an’ wi’ stane;

Wi’ rocks o’ the Nevis an’ Gairy

We’d rattle off frae our shore,

Or lull him asleep in a cairny,

An’ sing him—‘Lochaber no more!’

Stanes an’ bullets an’ a’,

Bullets an’ stanes an’ a’;

We’ll finish the Corsican callan

Wi’ stanes an’ bullets an’ a’!

For the Gordon is good in a hurry,

An’ Campbell is steel to the bane,

An’ Grant, an’ M’Kenzie, an’ Murray,

An’ Cameron will hurkle to nane;

The Stuart is sturdy an’ loyal,

An’ sae is M’Leod an’ M’Kay;

An’ I their gude brither M’Donald,

Shall ne’er be last in the fray!

Brogues an’ brochen an’ a’,

Brochen an’ brogues an’ a’;

An’ up wi’ the bonnie blue bonnet,

The kilt an’ the feather an’ a’!